


I Can't See You, the Light Is in My Face

by ryguy



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 07:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28467732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryguy/pseuds/ryguy
Summary: Kendall can fall into loneliness the same way people fall in love. He craves companionship without admitting as much.
Relationships: Stewy Hosseini/Kendall Roy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	I Can't See You, the Light Is in My Face

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Bite The Hand" by boygenius. Set post-S2? Kendall is the fucking boss and Logan is out of the picture because I said so ✋🙄

Kendall is lost in the railcars of a familiar train of thought again. He’s aimlessly ambling between the rows of seats filled with profound loneliness as he observes the weak flicker of his lighter. Click, click, he strikes the spark wheel, but nothing happens. He cradles the very end of his cigarette in the shelter of his palm and impatiently waits for it to catch fire.

On the third try, it does happen. He focuses on the lit tip, unable to decide whether he wants to bite down, almost on impulse just so his teeth could be of use, or to turn the cigarette around and shield the flame from the cold air, burning the inside of his cheek in the process.

He does neither. He just stands on the edge and observes. Smokes almost routinely rather than out of want.

He looks out at the midtown Manhattan cityscape, at the scurrying people, from a rooftop plateau one floor above a rented penthouse. Like ants on a map, the lot of them. The Roy family name itself is on this very map as well, stamped there in bold ink, but he doesn't think of it as his own. It's foreign, in a way feelings are often foreign to him. As if the unstable connection between him and his heritage is faltering at last.

Lately he has grown to envy common people for what they are—or rather what he himself is not in comparison. How could he even begin to justify craving their brand of genuine human connection? A luxury with no price tags on it that he can’t lift—they seem inseparable, the people and their humanity. Maybe he doesn’t deserve it, has yet to earn it in some way. Or maybe he already has, and it's all meaningless in the long run.

What he feels beside this ache of the inability to act, is the coldness of the railing and the wind biting at his reddening cheekbones. He grinds his teeth on the cigarette, hard enough to leave an indentation but light enough so as to not bend it. He shepherds his thoughts back on track and takes a long drag. He doesn't hear it when the door opens behind him.

"Kendall."

The voice he hears is like a charring old flame that boils even the still air around them. It only warrants an over the shoulder glance and nothing more. Not with the past tied to it.

Stewy continues. "The hot shit CEO." He gestures at the emptiness around them with a dramatic flair. “Alone on New Year’s Eve?”

“A ‘fuck you’ to you, too,” says Kendall, and Stewy speaks Kendall, so he knows that what he really means by that is _yo_. Could be interpreted as a _what's up_ on better days.

Stewy saunters over to the railing in his beige turtleneck and designer slacks, stopping within arm’s reach of Kendall. “What’s got you so stiff? Good old fashioned corporate ball torture?” He nudges Kendall's arm with his elbow, no real force to the gesture. ”Come on. Give me something to work with here.”

Kendall almost chuckles at that. “Just, uh, just getting some fresh air. And, uh, just so you know, I’m staying clean tonight, so you can fuck right off,” he explains defensively as he takes another drag.

“I just came to see if you're still alive out here and not plastered on the pavement or something. You know, I would rather know first-hand than from a headline."

Kendall remains unfazed. "No ulterior motives? Not even a fucking… white lines and blowjobs package deal? You're wasting my time, dude."

Stewy shoves his hands in his pockets. "My apologies. Just thought I'd check up on you."

"Right."

"If I can be, like, a hundred percent honest with you, Rome told me you just up and left, but I knew you wouldn’t leave without at least saying hi to me.”

Kendall allows himself a small smirk as the smoke pours from his mouth. Stewy knows he's right. He always is.

"Rome doesn't know shit," says Kendall.

"He does know some shits. Like, for example, you."

Kendall laughs a real laugh for maybe the first time today. There is always such a luminance to his face when he laughs at something Stewy has said. He never quite flashes those grins around others with the same openness, enriched by such an overwhelming sincerity. Kendall’s joy is short-lived at best but Stewy manages to capture it all during a prolonged glance.

Kendall’s side profile is backlit by the ongoing firework spectacle. Launched into the night they dissolve into crackling sparks—but it all blurs in the background, dwarfed by Kendall’s allure. Stewy’s gaze lingers on his outlined features; the bridge of his nose, the curve of his mouth. He almost never pays attention like this, like Kendall's face is something to dissect, but he does seldom catch himself staring. Maybe it's not even Kendall's attractiveness necessarily—just these glimpses of vulnerability.

Kendall turns to look at the fireworks, and Stewy watches him. “Guess it must be near midnight," he quietly mutters around his cigarette.

Stewy doesn't risk a glance down at his wristwatch, a glance away from the back of Kendall’s head. He presumes Kendall is just talking out loud to no one in particular but he chooses to entertain him with a reply—and he doesn't know if he should, really, but he presses anyway.

“You don’t sound too thrilled, man.”

Kendall tips his head back. "Well, uh," he says, "you may be right about that."

The lit cigarette sticks out from between his lips and the explosions overhead bathe him in vibrant light. He simply stands there with the atmosphere of a painting shrouded in urban intimacy. The striking centerpiece of an off-kilter composition.

Stewy quirks a brow. "Uh-huh."

He watches Kendall with curiosity, only briefly begins pondering about what's weighing him down. Something about the company, a press conference, his personal life maybe—shit that Stewy has no business stepping in.

The fireworks continue popping like corks yet it feels quieter than before. The two of them stand there like the rooftop is a liminal space, like something is about to shift.

Kendall turns to face Stewy. The detail Stewy’s mind latches onto is that the smile around Kendall's cigarette is lost. It’s always what others notice first as well; how stern he pretends to be. A sad man with too much to lose. But, that is not the Kendall that looks back at him. His Kendall is a boy with the eyes of a bewildered greyhound. It’s a dead giveaway, how much childlike honesty reflects in his eyes at times like these. 

“Am I blocking your view?” Kendall asks, tone midway between purposefully obtuse and playful.

Stewy smiles, all teeth. “You’re expecting me to say that you’re the view, correct? That you’re, what, picturesque?” He scoffs half-heartedly. “You wish you were that interesting. Would be kinda romantic, though, don't you think?”

Kendall mirrors his smile, a tad more manic around the corners. “Am I, uh, am I not interesting enough for you? You want me to run laps on this rooftop, or what? Fuck off. Go order a limo to Times Square or something.”

“Ken,” Stewy breathes out, “if you keep this shit up, I’m gonna have to pull that stick out of your ass myself. Relax, man.”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Pulling shit out of my ass?”

“You think it’s in my self-interest to play urologist with you?”

Kendall shrugs. The cigarette is dropped from between his numb fingers, somewhere in between the two of them. He stomps it out. “Must be one of your resolutions for the new year. It’s, uh, it’s right after overthrowing me. Because priorities."

Stewy sighs. “You hurt me, Kendall, you really do. Causing me actual heartache. I leave that awful get together downstairs to cheer you up and all you give me is fucking accusations in return." He pauses for a second. "Typical Roy move. Good to know you're keeping the brand up.”

The insult has no bite to it but Kendall still barks back. “Ever thought about, uh, shutting the fuck up?”

Stewy hums, considering it. “I can do you one better.”

He grips Kendall’s tie and pulls him in. The striped cashmere tightly twists around his fist, swathing his fingers. Kendall stumbles forward a half step, his expression unrelenting. His eyes glint. He is staring at Stewy all-too-intently before his eyes flick down to his lips.

Kendall is the one shutting up.

“I fucking miss hanging out with you," Stewy tells him, "coked up or not. Even if you're a silver-spoon-fed prick, we had something."

Kendall watches him with a half-lidded gaze. "I was busy," he murmurs. "And I don't know what your angle here is. Are you about to blow my brains out? Steal my lunch money?"

"No, but I'll tell you, okay. Whatever you're doing? It's not working." He gives Kendall's tie another tug. "I'm just offering to help you out. The usual."

Kendall exhales into the precarious distance between them. "Yeah, no, sure. I just…"

Kendall lets his sentence taper off as Stewy pulls him into an embrace. He holds him harder than his father ever did and gently pats him on the back. It feels… heavy. Like Kendall is down to Earth for once, feeling something adjacent to contentment.

"For the record, you're absolutely not allowed to cry all over my new coat. Just take this at face value."

Kendall nods, head burrowed in the crook of Stewy's neck. He takes a deep breath. "I’m trying. It's just, uh, it all feels a little too real right now. My mind is going a hundred miles per hour. Sober as a glass of fucking sparkling water."

Stewy huffs out a chuckle. "That's not so bad."

Kendall doesn't have the chance to overthink. He wants to say that he _can't think straight_ as a half-truth of sorts, but his mind is too clear for once, like a summit. He doesn't say a word.

Kendall needed this.

He opts to push that capricious nature of his down with both hands, as deep as it goes. His brows etch into a disbelieving frown before it registers for him that those same hands are gripping Stewy’s coat. His grip is tight enough to strain his knuckles.

"Relax..." Stewy whispers to him.

Kendall pulls back and looks into his eyes. And then it happens; pretty anticlimactic considering the fireworks already went off.

The clashing of their mouths is akin to the clinking of champagne glasses: short, meaningful. And it should end there, end in a regretful decision on a lonesome day, but Stewy's lips linger, as if chasing the warmth of Kendall's mouth. Kendall stiffens up. Part of him is drowning in stress but he can’t seem to care—not now, not when Stewy’s lips taste like chardonnay. The kiss feels softer than the hold of his arms.

It’s not a bad thing. Not if Kendall doesn’t back down.

He feels raw and naked the moment Stewy's tongue slips past his lips. He grasps whatever he can get his hands on, wanting more, like the overeager little kid he is. His hands are shaking from the nerves. He can't tell if he's merely thinking about it or if he's actually gasping out swears between kisses. He doesn’t know where being kissed ends and kissing begins.

Of course, Stewy is the kind of man to invest in lip balm, _that_ Kendall can also taste on him. Kendall winces at how fervent the kiss has become. He tears himself away from Stewy because he is losing control. His eyes are still fixed on his mouth as he collects himself.

“Fuck you,” mutters Kendall between shallow breaths.

Stewy sneers at him. “You wish.”

Kendall blinks at him while processing what just happened. “What the fuck was that for?”

“A new year’s kiss is traditionally about strengthening ties you wish to maintain,” Stewy tells him. “So here’s to another year by your side, Kendall.”

“I am so touched right now,” Kendall deadpans. “It’s like you’re knuckles deep inside me, man. And, uh, no offense, but a whole year sounds fucking ambitious coming from you. Like, are you kissing the ring or just kissing my ass?"

“Do you plan on bitching some more? Because, Kendall, you could be using your mouth for something much more—”

Kendall grabs him by his nape and pulls him in for another kiss. The world is quiet for another moment. Kendall is _sober_ and Kendall is making out with him in the privacy of the January air. It's like he was starving for this, ultimately. _This_ being something so intimate it knocks the wind out of him. Stewy can feel Kendall ease into it, so he touches him then, hands settling on his hips beneath his coat.

The rest is a confidential night that doesn’t get brought up until it happens again. And even then, it’s just people in rooms trying to be happy.

**Author's Note:**

>  **\+ author's notes**  
>  Recommended listening for an optimal reading experience: the titular track, "Bite the Hand" by boygenius.
> 
> Review from my friend Matthew who has seen one episode in total: im sure the reader of your succession gay enemies-to-lovers slow burn fic wont care about what sound the lighter makes.
> 
> A very accurate summary from my other friend Tia: it's like hurt/comfort but the hurt is the general malaise of life.
> 
> Huge thanks to Jenna for betaing my initial draft and Tia for holding my hand like I'm a little kid about to cross the road for the first time through the rest of the working process. I planned on finishing this actually in just a few hours on New Year's Eve but then I spent more time just sitting on it and chipping away at bits until it became something presentable. Tell me what you think in the comments below 🥰💌
> 
> **\+ socials**  
> [charden](https://charden.tumblr.com/) dot tumblr dot com :^)


End file.
